


Wait A Bit

by omelet



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11269413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omelet/pseuds/omelet
Summary: Tonight, they watched their jerseys rise up to the rafters, their numbers 87 and 71 never to be seen in Pittsburgh Gold on the ice again.(Sid and Geno, and what comes after.)





	Wait A Bit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theminiummark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theminiummark/gifts).



> Many thanks to celtprincess13 and hotcrosbuns for beta-ing and reassuring me while writing this :')

 

Geno can hear the rising sound of the crowd cheering, the voice of the announcer muffled through the walls of the tunnel.

“Last time we’ll be walking down here.”

In front of him, Sidney stops in his tracks, turning around to look at him. He scratches the back of his neck before smoothing down his shirt. “Yeah,” he says, offering up a small smile.

Squaring his shoulders, Geno lifts his head to meet Sidney’s gaze. He knows it’s a little dramatic to say, but it’s true. This may not be the last time he’ll see this hallway, but this is the last time it will be like this, walking down this hallway behind Sidney Crosby, as a Penguin. This is where it had started, all those years ago. If he’s honest with himself, at the very least, he’s glad this is where it will end, too.

He knows he chose to do this, but this was his life for such a long time. It was Sidney’s, too.

Geno sucks in a breath, letting it go in a shaky laugh. “Just need a minute.”

It’s so loud outside Geno thinks that Sidney probably didn’t hear him, but Sidney laughs a little too. “I’ll wait,” Sidney answers, even as the sound of their names shake the walls.

 

-

 

“You totally cried.”

“I didn’t!”

“It’s okay to admit, Geno. You know I cried.”

“I - fine, maybe I cry little bit.”

“But I mean, you were really crying.”

Geno throws his head back and groans, Sidney chuckling beside him as Duper and Tanger mercilessly chirp him. They’re gathered at Sidney’s house for a sort of joint-retirement party, hanging out with their old teammates who came out for the ceremony. While they all do meet up with each other when they get the chance, it’s rare these days to have everyone together all in one place at the same time; not many opportunities like this come up.

“Going to be weird not seeing you almost every day.”

Sidney turns to look at him as the others start to chat amongst themselves. “I thought you’d be tired of me by now,” he jokes.

Geno doesn’t say anything, just makes a half-hearted noise of disagreement and grins when Sidney laughs. It’s true they’ve been together for a long time, some would say too long, and life without hockey, without Sidney chatting away in his ear on the ice is hard to imagine.

“Yeah,” Sidney eventually says, nodding absently, as if he knows exactly what’s going through Geno’s mind. “It’ll definitely take some getting used to.”

It’s almost 2 in the morning when people start trickling out, bidding their goodbyes and making promises over their shoulders to visit and hang out. When it’s just the two of them left, Sidney is mostly quiet, contemplative as he tidies up the house, and Geno leaves him alone as he helps, letting Sidney work through whatever it is he’s thinking about.

“Guess I’m go home now,” Geno finally announces after he returns from taking out the trash.

Sidney finishes wiping down his dining table before he looks up at Geno and nods. “I’ll see you out.”

They’re silent on the way to the door, still silent when Geno opens it. Two steps out, Geno stops and turns back around. Sidney’s standing in the doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets, the light inside of the house spilling out all around him. It’s something Geno’s seen before, countless times, Sidney seeing him off when he leaves, smiling as he tells him that he’ll see him later, but this time, Sidney doesn’t meet his gaze, keeps it down and away. People always say they’ll keep in touch, promise to make plans, but sometimes it doesn’t happen. Sometimes all it takes is distance for people to drift apart, no matter how long they’ve been together, no matter what they’ve gone through together.

Tonight, they watched their jerseys rise up to the rafters, their numbers 87 and 71 never to be seen in Pittsburgh Gold on the ice again. After the ceremony, after the party, all that’s left is the leaving, the goodbye, and no one really tells you how strange it feels. It feels anticlimactic, despite it being something so significant. He supposes that they had plenty of time to make peace with the retirement, but it’s not just the end of their jobs. It’s the end of seeing each other like this, too.

“I’ll see you later,” Geno says, his voice coming out a little hoarse, if for nothing else than to break the silence.

Sidney finally meets his gaze and nods again, pulling his hands out of his pockets and holding one out to him. “Don’t be a stranger, eh?” he says quietly, an uncertain half-smile on his lips.

They’ve been together a long time, but nothing is ever certain. Geno brushes away Sidney’s outstretched hand to wrap his arms around him, pulling him against his chest. Sidney lets out a surprised giggle into his shoulder as he hugs him back, patting him lightly on the back.

“Yeah,” is all Geno manages to say, his voice wavering as he sucks in a deep breath, blinking hard.

After a few moments, Sidney’s arms close tight around him too, his palms warm against his back, his body relaxing, leaning against him.

 

-

 

Geno’s immediate plan was to go back to Russia, so that’s what he does. He finally bites the bullet and starts doing all the interviews he had lined up that he had been putting off since the announcement; he’s better with interviews now, even the English ones, but he’d still prefer not doing them. Until that’s all done, there’s no rush to do much else, so in between, he takes some time to just see his family and friends, catching up and taking it easy until things settle down.

“Zhenya,” his mother says from the couch, her eyes closed as she gets ready to take her afternoon nap. “You’re moping.”

“I’m not moping,” Geno mutters sulkily.

While it’s nice to be home, it gets boring. He knew retirement would be boring, simply because there would be nothing to do, no hockey to play, but the thing about having friends whose free time always lined up with yours is that you were never without someone to hang out with when you were bored.

Before falling asleep, his mother lists off a few things to buy if he wants to find something useful to do. After suffering through another half hour of dull television, Geno finally gives up, grabs a jacket, and heads outside. It’s cold for March, even for home. He looks at his phone, scrolling idly through his contact list and hoping to find someone who might not be busy or working or out of town until he stops on one name.

Without thinking too hard about it, he dials. The line rings once, twice; he shoves his hand in his pocket and rocks back and forth on his heels, does a little mental math before - 

“Hello?”

Geno jumps a little. “Hey, Sid. I ah - I’m not wake you?”

“Hey, G,” Sidney says warmly. Geno can hear the smile in his voice. “Uh no, I’ve been up for a bit. What’s up?”

“Ah, you know.” Geno shrugs, even though he knows Sidney can’t see it. He kicks at a stray leaf on the ground. “Just wonder what you up to. Want ask how you are.”

There’s a pause. “You’re bored.”

Geno smiles into his phone. “I’m _so_ bored.”

It’s been two months since Geno went back to Russia. He and Sidney talk every now and then, if not on the phone, then through texts. There are a couple group chats they’re in, but Sidney doesn’t talk much in them, not that he ever did anyway; he prefers talking one on one, even when it comes to texting. He’s never been much of a texter since they used to be able to just talk in person, but obviously, that’s not an option anymore. 

Sidney laughs. “You done with your interviews?”

Geno makes a vaguely unhappy noise. “Still have some left. You should fly over and do them for me.”

“I thought you were bored.”

“You know I hate interviews.”

“They’re in Russian.”

“So learn. I learn English, now your turn learn Russian.”

“Okay, I’ll get right on it,” Sidney replies in that amused facetious tone of voice he uses when he thinks Geno’s being difficult. 

Geno lets out a petulant _hmph_ before carrying on. “How’s the team?”

Sidney lets out a sigh, but it’s not a very heavy sigh so Geno feels some relief that he won’t have to listen to Sidney rant for over an hour this time. Sidney is still in Pittsburgh, staying with the Penguins on the player development side, coaching, like Gonch had done for a while. They might not be hockey players anymore, but they still talk about the team, or rather, Sidney tells him about them. He tells him how their former teammates are doing, what they’re working on, updating him on their progress. Without any kids of his own, talking about the team is the closest Sidney can get to rambling about his kids and to be honest, the same goes for Geno too. They took the younger players under their wing, the way the older guys did when they were rookies, though Sidney was probably the only one who ever taught them anything good. Geno isn’t ashamed to admit that he doesn’t really have it in him to teach or coach, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about the team anymore. He watches the games live when he can, on replay when he can’t, passes on any observations to Sidney, who passes it along to the coaching staff and the players, though Geno rarely offers anything Sidney didn’t notice already.

“Anyway,” Sidney says, heaving another heavy sigh to round off the end of his list of grievances, “I thought you’d be off travelling by now.”

It was the next part of the plan after retirement. It was something he had always wanted to do when he was younger, seeing new places and doing new things, but he never had enough time in between seasons. He’s got all the time in the world now.

“Not yet,” Geno answers. “Have some money things I’m have to do first.” He’s been meeting with people who have been going over his finances and how he’s going to manage it for the rest of his life. His agent does most of the work, really; he’s just there to read and sign things.

Sidney hums, sort of sympathetic and understanding. He probably had to do the same. “As long as you’re not trying to start another business.”

Geno laughs, recognizing the chirp. “No businesses,” he promises. “Though, if I open a hockey school, I make sure to ask you.”

In the off season, Sidney will be back for the summer session at the hockey school in Cole Harbour, now operating all year around. He had mentioned that he was thinking about starting a hockey clinic in Pittsburgh, in addition to the work he was doing through the Little Penguins program. “I’d be open to that,” Sidney says and Geno can tell it’s sincere.

Regardless, Geno huffs. “You know, it’s like you not even retire,” he says grumpily. “Make me look bad.”

Sidney chortles in response. “No shame in taking a vacation,” he replies diplomatically.

Sidney has always preferred to steer conversation away from himself; he’s content to listen to other people talk about themselves. They always had to make sure he wasn’t getting too lost in hockey or his own head, make sure he didn’t keep everything bottled up. “So what about you? How are you?”

“I’m good, great. It’s good to, y’know, be working,” Sidney answers. Geno can imagine him shrugging. “Keeps me busy.”

Geno frowns a little. “You need break sometime too. When you going to have a vacation?”

“I don’t know,” Sidney says, evasive. “I guess in the meantime, you can just tell me about yours.”

“Maybe one day, you come with me. We go on a trip,” Geno suggests and Sidney just laughs.

After the interviews, after the meetings, Geno leaves. For his first trip, he goes to Finland and finds the bathroom window he had crawled out of to get to the US and posts a photo of it on Twitter. Everyone gets a good laugh out of it, especially the team after Tanger sends a screenshot of it to their group chat along with his glowing approval.

 _I was wondering how you could fit through that window but I remembered how small you were back then,_ Sidney chirps in a text.

After that, he goes on a trip around Europe, with friends joining him for periods of time. He sees the sights he’d only been able to see in passing or in movies or photos, eats all kinds of food, and takes hundreds of photos to send to his friends. It’s amazing to have the time to be able to take time in every new place, getting to do everything on his own time, but traveling is stressful in its own way, with all the packing, the moving around, the trains and planes and car rides. In between, he backreads his texts, social media, sees what his friends are doing. He checks on the hockey school’s twitter. 

A few more months pass with him waking up somewhere new, doing something new, but he finds himself restless and exhausted all at once.

 

-

 

It seems to take an eternity to get to September and it feels strange, not planning to go back to Pittsburgh for pre-season. He knows it’s a part of a now-old routine, the instinct in him to return, one that he’s going to have to kick eventually, but for weeks leading up to it, he almost wonders if he should go back, if nothing else but to satisfy the itch under his skin to get on a plane and just go. Granted, it’s been a long time since he’s been away for this long, but he didn’t think he’d miss it this quickly.

He’s in France when his phone rings. He grapples blindly for his phone and answers, mumbling an unintelligible attempt at a greeting. He’s not sure which language he picked either.

“Geno?”

Geno’s eyes snap wide open. “Sid?” He pulls his phone away to squint at the screen. It’s 4:37 in the morning. “Early.”

“Shit, sorry,” Sidney says, his voice dropping to a whisper, like that will help. “I didn’t know what time - sorry, I can call -”

Geno yawns as he sits up in his bed, stretching before rubbing his eyes. “Already call. What’s up?”

“Sorry,” Sidney says again and, despite his usual morning crankiness, Geno finds himself quirking a grin. “I just - thought we’d catch up. Wanted to ask when you were coming back.”

Geno doesn’t answer immediately, wondering if it’s because he’s still asleep and that’s the reason he isn’t really comprehending what Sidney’s asking. “To Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah.” It takes a moment for Sidney to realize. “Ah, sorry, it’s just a habit to ask, I guess,” he says with a sheepish laugh. They usually meet before the season starts, for dinner or just to hang out, but that was when they had a season to return to. “But I mean,” he pauses, “do you think you will?”

 _Why?_ is the first thing Geno wants to ask, but he holds his tongue as he leans back against the headboard and looks up at the ceiling. He asks instead, “What would I do there?” 

It’s a valid enough question. As much as he wants to go back, he doesn’t really have a reason to.

“I just thought you might miss it,” Sidney answers. “We could catch up, hang out before you go off to your next vacation.”

Geno laughs. “Yeah,” he finds himself replying, despite himself. “Maybe.”

He thinks about the white sand beaches in South America his friends told him about, about Pittsburgh and its dreary fall. He thinks about his friends still in Pittsburgh, about Sidney.

 

-

 

“When I asked if you were coming, I didn’t mean if you were coming to my house.”

It’s almost as though nothing had changed since he left. Standing in the doorway of his house, Sidney looks the same as always, probably still training as much as he did when he was playing, if nothing else but out of habit. Geno takes that as a good sign. Moving past Sidney, he wheels his suitcase over to the guest room. “Oops.”

“You know, I think I vaguely remember you having your own house,” Sidney says wryly, even as he picks up Geno’s duffel and follows.

“You know I rent it out,” Geno replies with a wave of his hand. He had worked it out with management before he left, about leaving his house open for rookies and any players called up from Wilkes-Barre. At the time, he didn’t think he would be back for a while and it would’ve stayed empty otherwise - he’s too fond of the house to just sell it - and he remembers when they had new guys coming on to the team who ended up living out of a hotel for months before they got settled in. It would help the new players to be close to Sidney, too. “Anyway, they don’t want some old guy hanging around.”

“You’re not _that_ old.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Geno emphasizes, setting his suitcase down in the corner of the room before straightening up, putting his hands on his hips. “You have a big house.”

Sidney drops his duffel just inside the room before he leans against the doorframe, a bemused expression on his face. Geno mirrors it as he looks back at him. “I should charge you rent.”

Geno sighs deeply. “Actually, I have to tell you the truth, Sid,” he says quietly. He looks up at Sidney, who looks back, his eyes a little wide, concerned. “Lose all my money. Spend last of it on ticket to Pittsburgh.”

Sidney’s concern dissipates with a single eyeroll. “Wow,” he says with an exaggerated tone of sympathy. “That’s rough, G.”

“So rough. Now you have to take care of me forever.” Geno beams at him. “I want to eat sushi.”

Sidney levels him with a look, though Geno catches a glimpse of a smile right as he turns to leave.

They go to dinner at his favorite sushi place and talk, like they used to. The thing about knowing for someone for as long as he’s known Sidney is that you can tell even the slightest differences in their mood and Geno can tell that Sidney is happy, happier than he sounds during their phone calls. When he tells Sidney stories, the ones that were too long for texts, too interesting to just be recounted over the phone, Sidney laughs hard, his whole face scrunching up, and it makes Geno smile and laugh too.

He really missed this.

 

-

 

Being retired in Pittsburgh shouldn’t be much different from being retired in Magnitogorsk in theory, but it is. When his old teammates hear that he’s in town, he suddenly finds himself with a full schedule. There’s always something to do. He watches the games with the other retired guys who ended up settling down in Pittsburgh, like Flower and Tanger, but most of the time, it’s lunches, dinners, birthday or holiday parties, children’s birthday parties. Geno always has the time to hang out, but not Sidney. According to their friends, Sidney is always busy, not just with the coaching, both at home and away; he still has media obligations with the Penguins, the NHL, and interviews about his life after hockey, about “the state of the game” or whatever, not to mention all the guest spots he has on sports talk shows. Geno understands; Sidney retired as one of the best players in the history of the league. They’re not going to let go of him until someone manages to upstage him, which Geno doesn’t think will be happening anytime soon. With Sidney almost always busy with one thing or another, it leaves Geno with the job of telling them how Sidney’s doing.

“So you’re living with Sid now?” Flower asks.

“Yeah, only for a little bit,” Geno answers. “Pretty convenient. Sometimes he’s not home, so I watch house for him. Then it’s almost like I have my own house.”

“So you’re freeloading.”

Geno scoffs, offended. “I do chores!”

Flower laughs, clearly delighted to get a rise out of him. “You know the rookies can find another place to stay,” he points out.

Geno shrugs. “It’s only for a little bit,” he repeats.

“Uh huh,” Flower says, sounding both unconvinced and knowing at the same time.

He won’t admit it to anyone out loud, but he likes it better when Sidney is around, not just because they all have someone to poke fun at when he’s able to hang out. Even though Sidney is so busy, he always finds time for Geno if he’s home. Sometimes Sidney takes him to the rink; Geno goes to the old practice facility and catches up with their former teammates, the staff, does a little sideline coaching, hassles Dana for old time’s sake. It’s funny how their lives used to run parallel - the same job, the same schedules - but now run on the same line. Whenever they can, they run errands together, do the things they used to do on their own, like hang out around downtown, eat at their old joints, shop. He goes with Sidney to his little bookstores and teases him about his growing collection of history books; Sidney tries and fails to be enthusiastic about Geno’s choice in home decor.

“You’re not putting that in my house.”

Geno holds up the giant, beautiful, abstract painting of what might be a lion or a strange giraffe and pouts. “Why not? I buy.”

It goes in the living room.

It’s nice to have a routine again. He works out in Sidney’s gym, does the laundry every two weeks, makes dinner on Wednesdays and Fridays. When he doesn’t feel like doing anything and Sidney has a day off, they laze around the house and watch TV. It’s comfortable here, more comfortable than it was living in five star hotels, even more than it was back in his house in Russia, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

He lets the days pass. Sidney doesn’t ask him when he’s leaving and Geno knows he shouldn’t wait until Sidney has to ask, but he doesn’t bring it up, doesn’t leave. Geno buys new clothes when winter comes along, starts to buy the things that they don’t share in bulk at the store, and they don’t talk about it. He knows this was just supposed to be a visit, a stopover, but before he knows it, five months pass and beyond booking his usual flight back home, he hasn’t looked at a single travel site.

“Hey, G,” he hears Sidney call from the garage, followed by the sound of a bag being dropped. Geno pulls himself out of his thoughts and looks up from the stove just in time to see Sidney trudging in, plastic bags swishing in his hands.

“Hey,” Geno returns. “You buy ah -”

Sidney hoists the bags on the counter and pulls out the milk. “Uh huh.”

“And -”

The beer - his favorite brand - follows. “Yep.”

“You best.” Geno turns to catch the edge of Sidney’s grin before noticing the downward slope of Sidney’s shoulders. He frowns. Sidney’s not usually this tired; after all, there’s only so much physical activity you do as a coach. “Long day?”

Sidney lets out a groan as he stretches out his arms and arches his back. Geno’s eyebrows shoot up at the sound of a few very audible cracks. “I think I really am getting old,” Sidney answers glumly.

Geno tries not to laugh. “What you do?”

Sidney ambles over and leans against the counter next to him, but he’s looking away from him, a slight pout on his lips. “I tried to help with some drills.”

Geno can tell where this is going. “Ah,” is all he says, turning his attention back to his pot.

“I kept up!” Sidney says defensively, clearly taking issue with his tone. Then, a little deflated, “But now I feel like dying.”

Geno can’t help but laugh at him this time. “Old,” he heckles, letting out a yelp when Sidney gives him a good pinch in his side. It’s one of Sidney’s new favorite things to do; he’s never passed up the opportunity to chirp him about his inability to gain a solid pack of abs and now that Geno’s started to gain a bit of weight, he’s showing no signs of letting up.

Sidney snickers and moves to peer over his shoulder, willfully ignorant of Geno’s indignance. “What are you making? Smells good.”

He doesn’t know if Sidney isn’t aware or if he’s just hyper-aware, but Sidney’s hand is lingering on his hip, his fingers resting over the spot where he had pinched him. “Borscht,” Geno answers eventually, tasting a small spoonful of it for what must be the twentieth time.

Sidney hums curiously. “This is new,” he comments, completely inoffensive.

“I can cook,” Geno grumbles. His mother has been telling him how to make some dishes ever since he finally admitted to her that no, he was not living out of a hotel and eating at restaurants every day, he was staying with Sidney at his house and eating at restaurants only almost every day. After the initial chiding he got for imposing on Sidney like this, she made him promise that he would be a good guest and help around the house, like cook a good dinner every once in a while.

It’s been a learning experience. He takes some comfort in the fact that Sidney will probably be too polite to really criticize his misshapen pelmeni the way his mother undoubtedly would.

Sidney laughs softly. “Something wrong with it?”

Geno makes an uncertain noise. “Taste off.”

“Let me try it.” Geno blinks before he turns to look at Sidney, nearly doing a double-take when he sees that Sidney is looking expectantly back at him with his mouth open. Sidney laughs again and juts his chin at the spoon in his hand. “I’m not washing an extra spoon.”

Geno feels his stomach do an odd flip as he dips the spoon in the simmering soup, blowing on it a few times before holding it out for Sidney. Sidney leans forward and closes his mouth over it. “Good?” He asks faintly as Sidney pulls back, smacking his lips with a thoughtful look on his face.

“It’s great,” Sidney replies with a smile, though Geno’s still sharp enough to catch the slight pucker of his lips.

“Okay,” Geno says as he quickly turns back to the pot and absently dumps some more broth in. The hand on his hip pulls him aside as Sidney reaches over to take some bowls out of the cabinet. “Ah, Sid.”

Sidney pauses, half turned away to take the bowls over to the table. “Yeah?”

Geno looks at him and Sidney looks back. Sidney’s hand is still lingering on the small of his back.

“Don’t forget spoons,” Geno says quietly.

Sidney smiles, taking two spoons out of the drawer and holding them up as proof, before he finally pulls away.

 

-

 

Geno knows he’s too old for it now, but he wishes he still had wet dreams. It’s a strange thing to want, but it’s better than this: dreaming of looking at Sidney and Sidney looking back, of the flecks of green in Sidney’s eyes, the dark smudge of his eyelashes against his cheek, the way shadows fall across his face as he draws closer, closer, dreaming of Sidney smiling, touching his face, dreaming of Sidney leaning in and kissing him.

At least those didn’t make him wake up aching.

 

-

 

The Penguins make it to playoffs, but it’s a short run. He and Sidney may not have been the entire foundation of the team, but they were a part of it and they all know it’s going to be a while before the team can fill the hole they left. 

With no more hockey, Sidney is back home full time. Being retired now, he doesn’t have any tournaments to run off to go play in to distract himself from the offseason.

“So,” Geno says the first morning of Sidney’s official post-retirement offseason, sitting next to Sidney on the couch as they watch television. “You going back home? For hockey school?”

Sidney shakes his head, shrugging a little. “Not yet. The session won’t be starting for a few weeks. In the meantime, I can,” he pauses uncertainly, “relax.”

Geno doesn’t even bother to suppress a snort. “Relax,” he echoes.

The months leading up to their last game, the guys liked to joke around with Sidney, saying that retirement wouldn’t suit him. Sidney always has to be doing something hockey-related, if not actually playing hockey, then training for hockey, and if not _that_ , then talking about hockey, thinking about, or watching hockey.

Of course, Geno knows that Sidney isn’t the hockey-playing robot everyone says he is, but he would be lying if he said that Sidney isn’t the closest thing to one if he ever saw one.

To be honest, it’s a little depressing, watching Sidney putter about the house. It’s not that Sidney doesn’t enjoy being lazy - because he does - but Geno knows that he can only be lazy for so long before he has to do _something_. Geno may not have known where he would be a year after retiring, but he didn’t think he would be here. He thought he would be off somewhere, out of Sidney’s life, not like the way it is now, able to see how Sidney looks now, looking as lost as he had felt when he went back to Russia and didn’t know what would come next. Sure, Sidney has the hockey school to go to, a job to return to when the season starts up again, but Geno remembers how slow the months had gone on until he came back to Pittsburgh. He wonders if the months will slow to a crawl again when he goes back to Russia.

He wonders if Sidney will feel lonely.

_Maybe one day, you come with me._

“Why don’t you come with me to Russia?” Geno asks over dinner.

Sidney looks at him, blinking in confusion. “What?”

His flight back home is still a few weeks away and he doesn’t have anything planned between now and then. “Russia. With me.” Geno grins. “I hear you always wanted to go. It can be your vacation.”

Sidney’s eyes widen before his face flushes a deep red. The guys had teased Sidney about those two innocent answers when the article came out but Geno had promised they would take that trip together one day, when they had the chance. They never had the time before. “That sounds nice,” Sidney admits, a little hopeful. 

Geno nods, the idea growing on him with each passing second as he smiles. “Let’s do it.”

 

-

 

He has to admit it’s funny to see Sidney being the confused one for once.

“Now you know how I feel when I went to the US,” Geno says loftily when he sees the overwhelmed look on Sidney’s face when they arrive in Moscow. Geno’s plan is to stay here before flying to Magnitogorsk like he had originally planned, to show Sidney around the big city first.

“Good thing I learned a few Russian words from you,” Sidney says, before adding with a wry grin. “Though I don’t think I ever picked up on how to say ‘sorry’.”

Geno gets tickets to a devastatingly boring historical tour and Sidney loves it. Geno heckles Sidney every time he pulls out his little Cyrillic to English dictionary, but he can’t deny that all that reading Sidney did after retiring wasn’t just for show; sometimes he can tell Geno more about a monument than the audio guide or whatever Geno can read off the informational plaques. They have their bases covered with photos; Sidney takes photos of the sights and Geno takes the selfies.

They’re a little too old for wild parties now, so instead Geno takes him to restaurants every night, including one that serves the best vodka.

“Much better than the stuff in Pittsburgh,” Geno promises, pouring Sidney a shot despite Sidney’s extremely dubious expression.

“That’s still not much of an improvement,” Sidney says with a grimace, sniffing it before narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the glass. “I can’t have much anyway, I -”

“You know you retired now, Sid,” Geno laughs, clinking his glass against Sidney’s. “It’s okay to relax a little.”

Sidney looks at him, smiles down at his glass, and, after a moment, drinks.

So the night ends with the predictable result, the two of them laughing, bumping against each other as they walk back to the hotel, half-leaning on each other by the time they make it to the rooms.

“G, we gave up on stuff like this like, years ago,” Sidney groans, words a little slurred, sitting down on the couch in his hotel room.

“But it’s fun,” Geno says with a smile, flopping down next to him.

Sidney giggles. “It is,” he admits, wistful.

He should probably go back to his own room, shower, go to bed, but he just wants to stay like this. He turns to look at Sidney when he feels Sidney’s head bump against his shoulder. Sidney is starting to nod off a little, nestled against him, warm, his cheeks glowing pink. Geno feels his heart swell. After a few moments of staring, Sidney seems to notice, lifting his head to look at him, and smiles at him.

He’s been lucky these past few months. It’s a little like the way it was before when he was still playing, the way he felt lucky that he got to play hockey with Sidney, but this is different. He feels lucky to be able to be here with Sidney, to be someone Sidney trusts enough to be comfortable and unguarded with, to be able to see Sidney smile, for real, just like this.

“You still could’ve played.”

Geno blinks slow. “Hm?”

“You still had a few years in the league, at least.”

Geno lets his head fall back against the couch as he sighs. “Sid -”

“I’m serious, G,” Sidney says with absolute certainty, though his mumbling slightly diminishes its seriousness. “You still could’ve played.” His eyes are bright and glassy in the dim light. 

They’ve been through this before, had this talk after Geno’s retirement announcement. “I’m old, Sid,” Geno had said, in Sidney’s house, just the two of them. Sidney had said the same thing then - “You can still play” - and Geno shrugged and Sidney looked at him the way he did when he wanted to ask something but couldn’t bring himself to do it outright, so Geno knew that so long as he kept his mouth shut, Sidney wouldn’t ask. Everyone knew that Sidney was going to retire soon - the injuries were taking a toll on him and the last concussion took him out for nearly a full season and even then it took endless convincing to get him to even think about retirement -, but no one knew about Geno. He was a little slower by the end of it, but he was healthy, still keeping up with most of the players in the league. Maybe it’s true that he could’ve kept playing. Maybe he would’ve become the new captain, been content with staying in Pittsburgh, playing hockey.

“No point if you’re not there,” Geno admits softly. “Just want to play with you.”

A rueful smile slowly spreads on Sidney’s lips. “You always say that.”

Geno raises his eyebrows and chuffs in surprise. They’ve known each other all these years and this is the first time Sidney’s given any indication that he watches or reads any of Geno’s interviews that don’t occur two stalls away from him. “Yeah, well,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. “It’s truth.”

He wishes he could say it. He wishes he could say that he wanted this too, this chance to be able to be in Sidney’s life outside the rink, to keep him in his present and, hopefully, his future.

He loves him.

The silence stretches. “G?”

Geno feels his heart skip a beat. “Yeah, Sid?”

He looks at Sidney and Sidney looks back before Sidney unceremoniously drops his head heavily onto Geno’s shoulder. “I think I need to go to the bathroom.”

“ _Sid_.”

The night ends with the predictable result, Geno pulling Sidney to the bathroom and out of his pants, Sidney groaning in a way that Geno was not hoping for, but before Geno goes back to his room, Sidney smiles at him, soft and fond and beautiful, before falling asleep half-dressed in his clothes and Geno still loves him anyway.

 

-

 

The first night back in Magnitogorsk, they have dinner with his parents. Most of the dinner consists of his mother making sure that he’s being a good host while Sidney chats with his father about what they did in Moscow. Geno notes that Sidney carefully glosses over the part where he was horrifically hungover the day Geno took him to see Red Square.

“Evgeni has made this before,” Sidney tells his mother when she puts a bowl of borscht in front of him. It’s kind of cute that Sidney always uses his Russian name when he talks to his parents, like he’s worried that somehow they won’t know who he’s talking about. “Probably not as good as yours though.”

“Of course not,” Geno agrees readily after he translates for her, taking the light chirp in stride, knowing full well that he got his sore loser tendencies from his mother. True to form, his mother laughs, waving her hand as if to shake off the praise, but she is clearly pleased.

Even if he had the time to take Sidney around whenever they had games in Russia, he never would have had the time to bring Sidney here. They go to the local restaurants and Geno points out the decades-old photos of him hanging up on the walls. He takes Sidney to the rink he grew up playing on and they skate on the ice where he learned to skate, learned to play hockey.

“This is my Cole Harbour. I don’t have sign though,” Geno says, grinning when Sidney laughs, a little embarrassed.

This is the one place where he was just Evgeni Malkin, before he became “Geno”, before he met Sidney, but it’s so strange how even home feels different with Sidney here.

 

-

 

Geno drives Sidney to the airport when it comes time for him to leave. 

The drive is silent. This is it. Sidney will go to Cole Harbour for the hockey school, then back to Pittsburgh for coaching and that will be his life. Geno will be here or traveling somewhere and that will be his life.

There’s no reason to go back to the way it was, to go back to living with Sidney.

He watches with his hands tucked in his pockets as Sidney gets his bags out of the car. Sidney stops on the curb, looks at him, smiles.

“Thanks,” he says. Geno tilts his head at him questioningly. “For bringing me here. Showing me all of this.”

Geno shrugs a shoulder. “Is not big deal.”

“It’s your home,” Sidney says. “I can see why you always want to come back to it.”

Geno meets his gaze, then looks away. “Yeah,” he says quietly.

They linger for a bit until a car honks at his parked car.

“Well,” Sidney declares, lips twitching up in a grin when Geno glares at the driver, who looks like he’s considering cutting his losses. “I should get going.” 

“Yeah,” Geno repeats faintly. Sidney puts his hand out and Geno just rolls his eyes at him. “ _Sid_.”

Sidney smiles his lopsided smile before he moves forward to hug him. Geno hugs him back tight, letting his arms settle around him, resting his temple against his.

“Have a safe flight,” Geno whispers, Sidney’s jacket bunched under his hands. Sidney squeezes, murmurs a thanks into his collar in response.

Before he turns to leave, Sidney looks at him like he’s waiting and Geno wishes he could say it. 

But he doesn’t.

 

-

 

The rest of the summer drags on, even slower than the last.

Geno doesn’t go anywhere. He doesn’t feel like going anywhere. He stays at his place in Russia and he and Sidney go back to calls and texts, back to conversations about hockey, about the team, but it feels different. There’s things left unsaid, things they avoid talking about. Every now and then, he looks at the key to Sidney’s house still hanging on his keyring, thinks about the things he left at the house, but Sidney doesn’t ask for the key back, doesn’t ask him to get his things. He doesn’t ask if he should either. 

“Are you moping too?” Flower asks during one of their rare phone calls.

“Why everyone say I mope?” Geno grumbles under his breath, ignoring the implication of another moping person.

Flower sighs. “I thought you guys would get over this by now.”

Geno doesn’t respond, instead deflecting the conversation to Flower’s kids.

He knows that Sidney was happy. They were happy. He knows that they can’t stay like this forever, stuck in between leaving and staying, but they have their routines, the things that boiled everything down to simpler actions. They’ve been together for so long, done this for so long that Geno wonders if this became a routine too, all this dancing around each other and never talking about it. It made things easier. It kept things safe.

He remembers all those times he wished it didn’t have to be this way.

“You there, G?”

Geno blinks, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah, sorry.”

Sidney hums. He sounds unconvinced. “It’s a little bit early for you, eh?”

“Little bit late for you,” Geno chirps back. It’s past midnight in Pittsburgh. Back then when they were still playing, there were nights when Geno would go to Sidney’s house and they would just talk late into the night. When he was living with Sidney, it was what they did before they went to sleep, sometimes talking all the way to the point between their rooms where they would have to split off. Now, the phone calls happen late at night more often than not, like it’s a habit Sidney can’t shake, whether he knows or not.

Sidney manages a short laugh before the line falls silent for a few moments. Geno almost falls back asleep before he hears Sidney blurt, “I won’t be coaching anymore.”

Geno sits up, shocked awake. “They fire you?”

He can almost feel the side-eye through the phone. “The position was always just supposed to be temporary.”

“Oh, wow,” Geno says faintly, his head in a jumble. He knows this, remembers Sidney talking about it, but he thought it would be something at least a few years down the line. “Then you think they’ll be okay? The team?”

There’s a short puff of breath, but not a full sigh, which Geno takes as a good sign. “I’ve done all I can. They’ve got to learn on their own eventually. You know,” Sidney replies, laughing a little. “Birds leaving the nest and all.”

“True,” Geno says with a chuckle, nodding idly. “So, you’re ah," he hesitates, his breath catching before he continues, stilted, "going back home, then?”

There’s a pause. “You mean back to Cole Harbour?”

“You have other home I don’t know about?”

There’s another longer pause. “I’m staying here,” Sidney replies, soft and quiet. “In Pittsburgh.”

Geno thinks of Sidney, the first time he left, looking at him from the doorway of his house.

“It feels uh, more like home here,” Sidney continues when Geno doesn’t say anything, “as weird as that sounds.”

“Not weird,” Geno finally manages to say. 

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Where are you going next? You haven’t traveled the whole world already, have you?”

There were things he wanted when he was younger. Things change. The things that are the most important to him change. It’s been a strange year, trying to find a place in the world again after years of being in Pittsburgh, being a hockey player. He’s been to old places, new places, but he could never feel settled. He always felt like there was somewhere else he had to be.

Like there was someone he had to be with.

“No,” Geno replies, voice fraught. “Don’t feel like going anywhere now. Just miss,” he pauses, takes a breath, “home, too.”

There’s a long silence before Sidney finally speaks. “Why don’t you come home then?” He asks, so quiet Geno almost doesn’t hear, like he didn’t meant to say it out loud. Geno’s heart stops for a beat before it starts to race. 

“You want me to?” He asks cautiously, hoping that he knows what Sidney is saying, that Sidney knows what he’s saying.

He holds his breath when it’s silent for another moment, before he hears a shaky, nervous laugh. “Now you ask,” Sidney says, a little teasing but overwhelmingly relieved, and Geno can hear the smile in his voice.

 

-

 

It’s easy to leave, easier than he thought. His family and friends receive the news of him moving back to Pittsburgh as if they had been expecting it. Just as he had gotten used to being in Pittsburgh, they were used to seeing him just a few months in a year. “Took you long enough,” Max tells him, smirking before he shoos Geno off at the airport.

He stays awake for almost the entire flight, fidgeting. _I’m going home_ , he thinks and the thought calms him for a while, so he repeats it to himself over and over. _I’m going home._

He repeats it on the cab ride to Sidney’s house, as he walks up to the door. He can see the sliver of lights peeking out between the window curtains and he knows that means Sidney’s home.

He opens the door with his key. He’s just gotten his things inside and closed the door behind him when he looks up to see Sidney at the foot of the stairs.

“Hey,” Sidney says, out of breath like he had just come running down.

Geno puts his bag down. “Hey,” he returns, suddenly nervous.

Neither of them move. They just stand there, looking.

There must have been countless times, moments like this where they lingered, where Sidney lingered, that Geno has seen his eyes bright under a million different lights, bar lights, moonlight, stadium light, the lights of a Moscow hotel room. There were so many moments he spent just looking and looking and looking, never taking the chance. There was always something; the both of them were never on steady ground, always moving, always had a place they needed to go, to get to, and he could never just stop and seize the moment, follow it to the conclusion. 

Sidney finally moves, walking up to him and stopping a little ways from him. “You have any plans tomorrow?” He asks, cautious.

“No,” Geno answers. “You?”

Sidney shakes his head. “I’ve got nowhere I need to be now.”

There are no more obligations, no games to prepare for, no practices, no interviews or events to attend. There are no eyes on them anymore. No more excuses, either.

They’ve had every chance to let this go, but they haven’t taken one yet, finding ways to return, to return to each other every time.

“Then what you wait for?”

Sidney smiles, shaking his head as he steps closer. His hands come up slow as he touches Geno’s face, his thumb stroking his cheek, palm resting against his neck. “For you to stop leaving.”

It was never like this. It was always cellies through layers of gear, touches that lasted just a second too long, brief brushes that felt like flashes of fire. They never allowed themselves anything more than that because it was dangerous, something bigger, deeper than just desire. He loves him, has loved him for so long, and he was just afraid of getting this wrong. Maybe it was the same for Sidney.

“Not leaving anymore,” Geno whispers.

“Good,” Sidney breathes before he finally, finally closes the distance. Geno pulls him closer and Sidney fits right in his arms, like he always has. 

“Finally,” Geno sighs and Sidney laughs again, breathlessly against his mouth, before he moves, hands fumbling, pulling, new and familiar all at once. There’s no hesitance left when they kiss, slow and lazy. For the first time in a long time, there's no worrying about what he’s supposed to do, where he’s supposed to be.

After all this waiting, he’s exactly where he wants to be, finally doing what he’s wanted to do for a long, long time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Podfic: Wait a Bit by omelet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11457183) by [Eclectic_pen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eclectic_pen/pseuds/Eclectic_pen)




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